THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BY 


AAHON  G.  DATJ.S 


DYKRSBURG,  TENN. 

AARON  G.  J)AVIS,  PUBLLSHWR. 

1900 


WAIKs  KRoM  THE  WAYS1I>|<; 


AJ-L  RIGHTS  RESERVID 
By  tho  Publisher. 


11TI1- 


WAIFS    b'KOM  THE  WAY.slPE 


PKBFACB. 

These  waif*  have  been  hastily  written,  at  odd  time*, 
in  a  busy  life,  :md  do  not  possess  that  literary  finish, 
which  under  more  favorable  circumstance*,  might 
liMve  been  given  them.  Yet  it  is  hoped  that  they  may 
bo  of  some  interest  to  those  in  whose  hands  thi.s  little 
volume  may  fit  1 1. 

Hewpectfully, 

A.  G.  J). 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE. 


HEARTS  THAT  ARE  TRUE. 

If  there  were  no  hearts  in  the  world  that  are  true, 

There'd  be  nothing  to  live  for  in  life, 
For  storm  clouds  would  shadow  each  glimpse  of  the  blue, 

And  the  world  would  go  downward  in  strife, 

If  there  were  no  hearts  that  are  true! 

All  sunshine  that  over  our  planet  hath  shone, 

Hath  burst  from  the  light  of  belief. 
And  Doubt  is  anight  with  a  shudder  and  groan — 

A  sob  in  the  shadows  of  grief, 
This  doubt  for  hearts  that  are  true! 

To  suffer  the  chill  in  the  damps  of  Deceit 

Is  better,  far  better,  than  doubt 
One  heart  that  is  true;  for  deceiving  can  cheat, 

But  its  shadows  can  never  shut  out 
The  sunshine  of  hearts  that  are  true — 


460076 


WAIFti  FKOM  THE   WAYSIDE 

Shut  out  from  our  vision  Hie  beautiful  star 
That  shines  on  the  banner  of  Truth. 

And  valleys  whose  beauty  a  Judas  doth  mar, 
Will  smile  in  the  sunshine  of  Ruth, 

Will  smile  for  the  hearts  that  are  true. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  DEAD. 

The  blast  from  the  battle -blown  trumpet 

Has  dit-d  on  the  War  God's  breath, 
And  the  blood-stained  banner  of  Freedom 

Droops  over  the  plains  of  Death, 
Where  under  the  clod  of  the  valley, 

In  many  a  gory  bed, 
Amid  the  shadows  and  silence, 

Are  the  long,  long  ranks  of  the  dead. 

Ihere,  resting  in  death  and  glory, 

Are  the  proud  Confederate  braves, 
All  gathered  from  tempests  of  battle, 

And  lost  in  myriad  graves, 
Where  war  clouds  never  shall  darken, 

Or  the  bolts  of  the  combat  fall, 
But  the  years  of  sleep,  unbroken, 

Shall  linger  alike  for  all. 


WAIFS  FROM    THE    WAYfiTJDE 

>;  <^ 

From  mauy  a  rural  fireside, 

And  home  of  tlie  throbbing  marts, 
Lit  up  with  the  light  of  affection, 

And  dear  to  their  proud,  brave  hearts, 
With  the  gleaming  sword  and  musket, 

At  the  call  of  a  bleeding  land, 
They  arose  like  Spartan  heroes 

In  the  ranks  of  Glory's  band. 

And  parents,  with  hearts  o'erladen, 

And  sisters  with  weeping  eyes, 
And  those  who  were  nearer  and  dearer, 

With  tears  too  heavy  to  rise 
H  ve  faintly  the  farewell  murmered, 

And  clung  to  the  parting  hand, 
And  watched  for  the  brave,  who  never 

Returned  from  a  far  off  land. 

Thro'  the  smoke  and  glare  of  the  battle, 

Thro'  the  blood  and  the  bolted  breath, 
They  bore  the  banner  of  Freedom 

Right  on  to  the  jaws  of  death; 
And  a  land  of  graves  and  darkness, 

With  that  banner  now  furled  on  the  tide, 
Is  all  that  remains  of  the  Nation 

That  bled,  and  suffered,  and  died. 


WAIFS  FRO«t    THE  WAYSIDE 

But  there  'raid  wreck  and  the  darkness, 

All  healed  are  the  wounds  of  the  fight, 
And  strewn  are  the  flowers  of  summer, 

By  the  white  winged  angels  of  light — 
Who  weep  by  the  mouldering  ashes 

Of  the  brave,  who  reck  no  more 
Of  the  glorious  hope  that  perished, 

Or  the  cross  they,  suffering,  bore. 

Tho'  clouds  of  gloom  and  the  darkness 

Of  defeat  hang  over  the  land 
Where  a  martyred  Freedom's  banner 

Droops  over  their  mouldering  band, 
The  glorious  hand  of  Honor 

'Has  laurelled  each  blood-stained  brow, 
And  peace  has  folded  each  bosom 

That  is  mouldering,  pulseless,  now. 

How  sweet  is  the  sleep,  unbroken, 

Of  death  and  the  martyr's  grave, 
Where  hover  the  shadows  and  silence 

To  the  ranks  of  the  lost  and  the  brave, 
Whose  hearts  in  the  heat  and  glory 

Of  battle  shall  leap  no  more, 
Or  ache  for  a  martyred  Freedom, 

Where  the  clouds  of  darkness  lower; 


W  A  I  !•'  S   V I !  ( )  M   Til  K   \V  A  Y  S 1 1 )  K 

For  the  fitful  suffer!  n«r  is  over, 

And  the  life  has  ebbed  away: 
And  all  that  is  left  in  the  darkness 

Is  only  a  handful  ol  clay; 
And  the  light  of  a    deathless   yloi-y 

That  streams  with  a  fadeless  ll;i    ie 
From  defeat  and  the  lowjy  shadows 

To  the  haloed  scroll  of  fame. 

The  jjory  that  needs  no  i-olumu 

To  point  to  'he  fallowed  bed, 
Where  the  blood   siained  banner  ol    Freed. mi 

Dri'ops  over  the  deathless  dead, 
Whose  dust  in  the  hoi\  sileiit-e 

And  <r':>om  that  memoiy  eiu'i.-rs, 
I>  wet  \\  i;'h  the  r.iin  ol' sorrow 

In  the  flood  of  a  nation's  tears. 


DUTY. 

Ah.  once  I  was  charmed  with  the  um>ic 
That  the  fields  and  the  wood-;  awake. 

The  sound  of  the  Maytime  showers 
And  the  birds  bv  the  silent  lake: 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYsIDE 

I  was  charmed  by  the  wandering  breezes 
That  brought  the  scent  of  the  rose; 

By  the  wonders,  deep  and  mystic, 
Of  sound  at  the  evening's  close. 

But  a  time  came  on  with  the  shadows 
And  heart-ache  of  toiling  and  strife, 

When  1  longed  for  the  voice  that  cometh 
From  God  for  a  broader  life. 

And  I  sighed  for  the  tender  touches, 
For  the  more  mysterious  part 

Of  the  softer  music  fetters, 
That  bind  and  thrill  the  heart; 

And  it  came  when  I  found  where  Duty 
Doth  point  to  the  thorny  way, 

And  Love  doth  smile  on  the  struggle 
From  the  dawn  of  an  Endless  Day. 


TO  A  SOUTHERN  GIRL. 

The  poet's  pen  is  incomplete, 

And  language  sinks  in  burning  drouth 
To  lay  a  tribute  at  thy  feet, 

Fair  daughter  of  the  South. 


WAIFS  PROM  THE  WAY.SIDE 

Thy  hair  has  shamed  the  darkest  night ; 

Thy  tender,  witching  smile  is  more 
Thau  half  awakened  dawns  that  light 

This  old  romantic  shore; 

And  fairer  is  thy  blue-veined  brow 
Thau  boasts  the  water  lily's  suow, 

And  all  the  sweetest  roses  vow 
Thy  cheeks  a  richer  glow. 

Thine  eyes  are  lum'nous  orbs  that  beam 
More  tender  than  our  Southern  Junes, 

More  deep  than  mystic  lakes  that  dream 
Beneath  magnolia  moons. 

More  chaste  thy  lips  than  peach's  blush, 
More  innocent  than  driven  snow, 

Yet  warm  and  tender  is  the  flush 
Of  Southern  hot  blood's  glow; 

And  in  thy  being  lives  the  trace — 
A  bounteous  gift  Divine  to  thee — 

Of  all  the  beauty,  all  the  grace 
An  angel's  dream  might  be. 

O,  thou  sweet  singer,  who  dost  hold 
In  thy  pure  soul's  unfathomed  urn 


\V  \  IK-i  I-'iSoM   TIIK   WAVSIDK 

A  <l"pth  cf  feeling — deep,  unto'd, 
When;  fires  op  genius  burn. 

T-ike  this  from  one,  unworthy  though, 
To   l:iy  hi*  tribute  ;it  tliy  feet, 

With  his  one  hope  tlutt  tliou  sh.-ilt  know 
Thron«li  ;ill  the  pultiinj?  l>e;it  — 

Tliroujrli  :il!  the  ])iil.-ii!ii'  bent  of  ye;irs 
Mnt  hnppiness,  unniensured.   sweet, 

'Till  thy  pure  life, — no  clouds,   no  tears, 
Is   rounded  ,-nnl  complete. 


TO  A  W II IPPOOR .WILL. 

S;id,  sjul  thy  mournful  note, 

0,  lonesome  \\hippoorwill, 
Yet  as  its  numbers  float 

Fiom  yon  old  nigged  hill, 
Amid  the  dank  night  air, 

O'er  shadow  haunted  vale, 
While  rising  dimly  there, 

The  moon  is  shining  pale: 
I,  ling'ring,  love  to  hear 

Thy  tale,  O,  bird  so  lone — 
The  tale  that  brings  a  tear, 

That  seems  so  like  my  own. 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

With  smiling  spring  once  more 

These  clear  old  hills  are  green, 
And  roseate  skies  bend  o'er 

The  fields  and  woods  between; 
And  yet  through  all  the  blessed, 

Sweet  days  that  come  and  go, 
A  shadow  fills  my  breast 

While  through  its  pulses  flow 
A  tender  thrill  of  pain, 

As  gazing  sadly  o'er 
The  past  I  sigh  again 

For  days  that  are  no  more. 

And  as  I  stand  to-night 

Beside  my  childhood's  cot — 
The  home  that  once  was  bright 

With  smiles  I  know  can  not 
Be  seen  on  earth  again; 

While  mem'ries  of  the  past, 
That  fill  my  breast  with  pain, 

Come  crowding  thick  and  fast- 
No  wonder  as  I  list, 

Oh,  mournful  bird,  to  thee, 
My  eyes  grow  dim  with  mist, 

For  that  which  can  not  be. 


WAIFS  FROM  THK  WAYSIDB 

I  listened  wheu  a  child, 

.Here  at  my  cabin  door, 
As  in  the  woodland  wild, 

Through  twilight  gathering  o'er 
1  heard  thee  mourn  and  mourn; 

All  me,  it  might  have  been 
For  hopes  forever  torn — 

I  did  not  think  so  then, 
The  daytime  was  so  blight  — 

So  full  of  golden  beams, 
And  slumbers  of  the  night 

Brought  gladness  in  their  dreams. 

For  all  was  joyous  then 

Through  tender,  golden  years 
That  blessed  my  childhood  when 

The  seasons  brought  no  tears — 
No  sorrow  in  their  flight, 

But  now  that  light  is  orer, 
And  as  I  pause  to-night 

By  childhood's  home  once  more, 
I  find,  decayed  and  lone, 

A  mossed  and  crumbling  cot, 
A  hillside  overgrown — 

A  s.-td  neglected  spot. 


WAIFS  PLIOM  THK  WAYSIDE  11 

Where  are  the  friends,  the  dear 

Beloved  ones  of  yore? 
They  do  not.  liuger  here; 

The  old  roof -tree  no  more 
For  them  will  cast  its  shade; 

I  seek  beside  the  cot, 
And  over  hill  and  glade, 

And  through  the  meadow  -lot, 
But  with  a  heavy  sigh, 
"I  cannot  find  them  there; 

Oh,  where  are  they?"  1  cry, 
And  echo  answers,  "where?" 

No  wonder  that  to-night, 

Sad  mourner  of  the  wild, 
My  heart  is  not  as  light 

As  when  I  was  a  child — 
When  listening  from  this  door 

To  thee,  I  could  not    feel 
The  shadows  that  now  o'er 

My  heaving  bosom  steal, 
While — seeming — from  thy  throat, 

Thou  dost  outpour  in  strange 
And  melancholy  note, 

The  sadness  of  this  change. 


12  WAIFS  FROM    THE  WAYSIDE 

There  is  a  mystic  tie 

In  gladness,  never  wrought 
With  sympathetic  sigh, 

In  sorrow's  deepest  thought; 
And  this  is  why  I  hear, 

While  standing  thus  alone, 
A  tale  that  brings  a  tear — 

That  seems  so  like  my  own ; 
0!  lonesome  bird  of  night  — 

Of  night,  so  dark  and  chill, 
Around  the  solemn  height 

Of  yon  old,  rugged  hill. 


WHAT  IS  DEATH? 

You  ask  me  what  Death  is.     I  can  not  tell — 

It  is  a  mystery,  so  dark  and  deep, 
The  sobs  of  grief,  the  tolling  of  the  bell 

Beside  the  threshold  of  that  dreamless  sleep 
Can  tell  as  much  as  all  tliat  Wisdom  boasts; 

As  much  as  all  Philosophy  has  yet 
Revealed.     Our  deepest  ponderings  are  lost 

In  mist  where  God  the  seal  of  silence  set. 


WAIFS  PROM  THE  WAYSIDK  l.{ 

THE  YE  A  LI. 

The  year  is  one  grand  po«Mii, 

From  where  the  roses  blow 
To  where  the  wintry  twilight. 

I'iiles  o'er  ;i   waste  of  simw! 

There's  music  in  the  Southwind 

That  thrills  I  he  bud  to  bloom; 
A  rhythm  in  the  raindrops, 

That  patter  in  the  gloom. 

And  from  the  skies  of  opal 

To  where  the  hills  are  bright, 
There  is  a  mystic  language 

No  pen  can  ever  write! 

In  green  flushes  of  forests; 

In  verdant  fields  that  teem 
With  birds  and  bloom  are  measures 

Earth  poets  can  not  dream! 

Ah,  there  are  thrills  of  passion, 

Through  swart  hot  days,  from  deep 
Founts  of  the  fervid  Sun  god 

That  lull  the  world  to  sleep- 
That  lull  the  day— the  moonrise— 
The  star  dawn— 'till  that  strange: 


14  WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

Transfigured  scene  of  wonder — 
The  .season's  mystic  change! 

Then  through    this  wondrous  poem 
There  breathes  the  .saddest  tone, 

Witli  blighted  flowers,  fallen — 
Dead  leaves,  and  beauty  flown; 

A  deep,  sad  tone  that  reaches 
Out  through  the  days  and  nights 

Of  wintry  storms  and  changes 
To  the  sublimes!*  heights. 

The  year  is  one  grand  poem 
That  thrills  with  life  and  light. 

But  ah,  its  mystic  language, 
No  pen  can  ever  write! 


LEGEND  OF  THE  WATER  LILY. 

Once  shone  a  mystic  star, 

Bright  in  the  sky  above, 
That  sighed  and  sighed  because 

It  had  no  one  to  love. 

Down  in  the  pathless  wilds, 
The  red  men's  children  played, 


WAIFS  FROM    THE    WAYSIDE  15 

Through  twilight,  in  the  depths 
Of  the  old  forest  shade. 

And  when  the  star  iirose, 

It,  felt  within  its  breast, 
A  yearning  to  be  near 

Those  children  of  the  west. 

Then  fall  inn  from  the  sky, 

It  rested  on  a.  tree, 
And  said:     "I'll  wait,  and  see 

If  they  will  notice  me." 

But  they  no  notice  took 

Of  the  poor  star  as  o'er 
The  waves  their  hirch  canoe 

Sped  from  the  wooded  shore. 

It  watched  them  waiting  there, 

Beyond  the  shadows  row; 
And  then  said  piteously: 

"Flight  down  to  them  I'll  go;" 

Then,  falling  on  the  deep, 

It  burst,  arid  brightly  shone, 
Its  fragments  numberless 

Along  the  waters  blown; 

And  from  each  flake  of  light 
There  on  the  river's  blue 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

Deep  bosom,  white  as  snow, 
A  water  lily  grew. 

All!  nut  in  Viiin,  the.  stiir 
Came  to  this  world  of  ours; 

Affection  here  it  found. 
We  love  those  perfect  flowers. 


PHANTOM  TKEASUIIES. 

Hefore  our  yearning  vision, 
Tliiit  radiant  shore— 
The  golden  Sometime — 

llect-des  forevermore. 

We  c.iicli  ;i  glimpse—a  semblance 

A  distant  gleam 

Of  Elrtoradoes 
That  vanish  like  a  dream — 

Hut  never  ^rasp  the  treasures, 

The  sweets  that  bloom 

In  golden  Sometime, 
And  fade  in  endless  gloom. 

For  they  are  only  pictures 

That  By  and   Bye, 

The  cunning  artist, 
Faints  on  a  fading  sky. 


WAIP.S  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE  17 

"AND  THERE  WAS  LIGHT." 

Who  laid  the  vast  foundations  of  the  deep, 
And  reared  the  barriers  of  the  ocean's  might! 
Who  spread  the  continents  with  all  their  vast 
'Jntraveled  bounds?     Who  scattered  in  the  seas 
The  myriad  isles — and  who  ia  all  of  this 
Hath  wrought  such  wonders,  wrought  such  endless  dreams 
Of  beauty,  wrought  such  glory,  wrought  such  graudieur 
In  mountain  range,  with  grand,  majestic  peaks; 
In  valleys,  broad  as  grim,  old  ocean's  waste; 
In  forest,  river — all  that  nature  boasts! 
Who  formed  all  this?     Thy  hand,  Almighty  God. 
Yet  glory  more  than  this  hath  struck  with  awe 
This  Earth,  and  made  her  reel  in  dim  eclipse! 
Ah!  dazed  the  Universe!     When  darkness  lay 
Upon  the  deep;  when  all  was  lost  in  gloom, 
God  threw,  amid  the  rayless  void  of  vast 
Infinite  space,  ten  thousand  flaming  worlds, 
And  said:     "Let  there  be  light.     And  there  was  light!" 


18  WAIFS  PROM  THE  WAYMDE 

"UNKNOWN." 

In  storms  of  death  through  charnel  gloom 

They  fought,  and  faced  war's  dreadful  doom, 
And  held  above  the  bloody  sea — 

A  nation's  hope  'till  all  was  lost! 
Their  lives,  their  names  for  you  and  me — 

Is  what  their  grand  devotion  cost. 
And  now,  'mid  wrecks  of  battle  sown, 

Our  country's  heroes  sleep,  unknown. 

'Tis  sad  to  see,  amid  the  fight, 

The  brave  go  down  for  home  and  Right — 
Sad  when  the  hero  leaves  a  name, 

That's  cherished  through  memorial  years, 
And  emblazoned  on  the  scroll  of  fame; 

But  Honor  sheds  her  saddest  tears 
O'er  martyr  forms,  by  battle  sown, 

In  long,  red  trenches,  marked,  "Unknown." 

And  sadder  still,  the  hearts  that  bled! 

By  anguish  rung — tears  that  were  shed 
'Mid  shadows  of  that  doomful  time, 

For  those  who  never  did  return 
From  fields,  where  Carnage  rode  sublime, 

Whose  hero  hearts  had  ceased  to  yearn 


WAIFS  PROM    THE    WAYSIDE  19 

For  home  and  loved  ones — slept  alone, 
In  battle  trenches,  marked,  "Unknown!" 

"Unknown?"     No,  they  are  apart 

Of  Glory,  arid  in  every  heart, 
That  beats  in  sympathy  and  love, 

For  all  that's  noble  iu  our  race — 
They  live,  and  angels  bend  above, 

With  an  eternal  record  trace 
Of  every  name — forever  in  the  Light 

That  storm  or  change  can  never  blight ! 


VANITY. 

A  little  imperfection 
That  gathers  many  sweets 
From  silly  flowers,  blooming, 
Fos  every  heart  that  beats. 


WAIFS  FROM    THE  WAYSIDE 

"IF  HOPE.  SHOULD   DIE.'7 

If  Hope  should  die, 

Wlmt  would  life  be — and  Time? 
Would  yon  proud  sky 

E'er  arch  o'er  works  sublime 
By  hunmu  genius  wrought? 

Would  fields  of  Thought 
Have  gleaners?     Nevermore 

On  sea  or  shore! 

All  that  is  true 

And  beautiful  beneath  ihe  blue, 
Translucent  sky 

Would  fade  amid  the  gloom, 
And  never  branch  of  promise  bloom 

If  hope  should  die. 

He,  who  made  Sacrifice  and  Love, 

And  made  our  souls  to  yearn 
For  Ihe  infinite  things  above 

The  dark  mysterious  Urn, 
That  pours  the  stormful  years 

Into  the  great  Unknown, 
Made  hope,  through  hit  man  tears 

And  every  moan 


WAIFiS  FLIOM  THE   WAYS1DK  '21 

Of  human  hearts  to  shine — 

The  one  fixed  star  amid  the  gloom, 
Forever  mine  and  thine; 

Nor  could  one  branch  of  promise  bloom 
Beneath  the  sky 

It'  Hope  should  uie. 


THE  MOULDS  OF  FORTUNE. 

He  hath  the  moulds  of  fortune, 
Who  hath  a  hero's  hands, 

And  precious  ores  for  building 
Are  drifting  in  Time's  sands. 


WAIFS  FUOM  THK  WAYSIDE 

NO  CROSS  NO  CROWN. 

"Tisover  the  lives  where  Sorrow 
Hath  fallen  with  deepest  gloom 

That  sweetly  the  beautiful  flower 
Of  teuderest  love  doth  bloom. 

The  heart  that  dares  in  the  combat, 
For  all  that  is  holy  and  true, 

Shall  thrill  when  the  field  is  conquered 
As  those  of  the  angels  do. 

The  soul  that  suffers  and  struggles 
For  God  'till  the  storms  shall  cease, 

Shall  reach  the  ultimate  harbor, 
In  the  glory  of  love  and  peace. 

The  hands  that  are  worn  by  labor, 
Though  humble  their  lor  be  cast. 

Shall  rise  when  the  field  is  t'oughten 
"With  the  yictory  palms  at  last. 

And  the  feet  that  through  the  desert 
Of  shadows  and  thorns  press  on 

At  the  call  of  duty,  thougli  bleeding, 
Shall  tread  the  shores  of  ilie  Dawn. 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE  23 

"Tis  over  the  brow  where  struggles, 
Their  deepest  traces,  have  ploughed 
That  the  skies  grow  calm  at  even 
In  banishing  every  cloud. 

At  the  tomb  is  lost  in  the  shadows 

The  light  of  earth's  glimmering  dawn; 

But  over  the  hills  of  the  twilight 
The  star  of  hope  shines  on. 

'Tis  ours  to  struggle  and  suffer, 

'Till  thorns  and  shadows  are  past, 
For  Love,  and  Truth,  and  triumph — 

That  come  to  the  brave  at  last. 

If  we  bear  no  cross  in  the  shadows, 
We  can  wear  no  crown  in  the  light, 

When  the  endless  Day  shall  triumph 
Over  the  gloom  of  Night! 


-!4  WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYsIDB 

CONTRASTS. 

There  are  regions  so  barren  and  cold 

That  they  never  can  feel  the  power- 
Mysterious,  thrillful  power, 

That  tenderly  warmeth  to  life 
A  wealth  of  leafage  and  flower. 

There  are  lives  so  barren  and  cold 
That  the  light  that  falls  from  above- 

Froni  God,  who  reigneth  above, 
Doth  wake  no  tender  impulse — 

No  warmth  of  beauty  and  love. 

Each  fllleth  its  destined  place, 

In  the  mist  of  the  storm ful  years — 

In  the  drift  of  the  yearnful  years 
Of  Time,  and  the  rest  is  left 

With  God,  who  ruleth  the  spheres. 


WAIFS  FltOM  THE  WAYSIDE  25 

DAVY  CROCK ETT. 

The  West,  w;i.s  Freedom's  virgin  clime, 

Her  dearest  child,  her  brightest,    st;ir, 
Must  radiant  orb  that  rose  on  Time. 

.She  stood  without  one  cloud  to  mar 
Her  innocence.    In  glory  wrought; 

In  grace  and  beauty,  wild  and  free, 
As  if  in  Jier  the  gods  h;id  caught, 

Through  some  mysterious  alchemy, 
All  tliiitan  angel's  dream  might  be! 

Arid  Freedom  came  to  claim  her  own, 
From  proud  Columbia's  altar  llame, 

Where  falls  no  shadow  of  a  thioue, 
With  galling  chains,    and  groans,  and  shame! 

She  came  to  thrill  this  Paradise 
With  life  and  hope;  to  swing  the  gates 

Ajar  for  Glory's  sun  to  rise — 
The  sun  this  virgin  West  awaits — 

To  light  the  way  of  rising  states. 

But  Freedom,  pausing  by  the  flood 

Of  Mississippi,  sank  in  awe; 
The  Despot  rose  thro'  tears  and  blood; 

Rose  over  Liberty  and  Law- 
Hose  in  her  path  with  torch  and  chains: 

And  scorned  her  power;  her  right  to  save 


26  WAIFS  PROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

The  West— her  wilderness  and  plains 

From  crime  iinrl  blood,  the  torl.ure  truve, 
The  master's  lash,  groans  of  the  slave! 

Hut  lo!  there  rises  at  her  side 
A   hero  form  from  Tennessee — 

A  stalwart  chief,  in  battle  tried, 
Who  breathed  but  the  breath  of  the  Free! 

Frontiersman,  patriot,  pioneer! 
A  statesman,  able,  august,  grave 

In  council,  proud,  devoid  of  fear; 
He  was  the  soul  of  honor — brave 

As  ever  Rome  to  Glory  gave! 

Thus  Crockett  came  to  blaze  the  way; 

He  plunged  through  wilderness  and  plain, 
To  save  the  west  for  Freedom's  sway; 

To  quench  the  torch,  and  rend  the  chain: 
He  dared  all  odds;  he  met  the  foe 

Alone,  where  demigods  would  fail. 
Amid  the  storms  of  Alamo — 

He  scorned  the  battle's  deadly  gale, 
The  flame  and  smoke,  the  leaden  hail! 

He  stands  alone;  the  foemen  come 
In  fearful  odds;  he  lays  them  low; 


WAIFS  PROM  THE  WAYSIDE  27 

Amid  the  cheers  of  Christendom, 
Amid  the  thunder  clouds,  the  glow 

Of  battle's  flaming  hell — he  holds 
A  nation's  hope!     And  though  his  light, 

His  life  is  quenched  beneath  the  folds 
Of  Freedom's  flag  in  that  dread  fight, 

He  never  can  be  lost  in  night. 

He  fell,  but  Glory's  aureole 

Is  his;  and  he  is  Freedom's  own; 
And  Fame's  through  all  the  years  that  roll 

Into  the  mists  of  the  Unknown — 
For  from  his  blood  at  Alamo, 

The  dawn  of  Freedom  broke!     The  fate 
Of  despot  power  was  sealed.     The  glow 

Of  life  thrilled  each  embryo  state, 
And  all  the  West  rose  rich  and  great. 

He  needs  no  monument  of  stone; 
Long  as  in  human  hearts  shall  leap 

Noble  impulse,  the  West,  her  own 
Great  hero's  deathless  fame,  shall  keep! 

His  memory  lives  in  every  breeze 
From  paths  of  the  Lone  Star's  hot  tide 

To  mists  of  far  off  Oregon  seas; 


WAIFS  FROM    THE  WAYSIDE 

From  sunrise  on  the  Great  Divide 

To  where  the  Golden  Gateways  glide. 

But,  not  alone,  shall  the  great  West 

Our  hero  claim — for  Tennessee 
Holds  him  as  hers.     Nursed  on  her  breast, 

He  was  her  son.     Pride  of  the  free! 
And  she  has  reared  her  Alamo, 

In  honor  of  his  deathless  fame, 
And  sealed  fore'r  her  love  to  show — 

The  fairest  spot  her  boundaries  claim — 
Her  Paradise,  with  Crockett's  name! 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

PUOSPU'S  TIMES  IN  CLIOCKETT. 

Prospu's  Limes  in  Crockett! 
Thar  never  wus  sich  corn, 
An'  hogs,— geewhillikins! 
Won't  plenty  spill  her  horn? 
An'  whnt  rank  gyarden  truck; 
Look  at  theui  peaches  blush! 
An'  watermillen  patches— 
1  jistdo  wish  ye'd  hush! 

Prospu's  times  in  Crockett! 
What  fields  of  clover  hay; 
Fat  sheep,  an'  cows,  an'  hosses; 
An'  mules  too  thunderin'  gay; 
An'  punkins,  big)  whoopee! 
Sweet  taters  crappin'  out! 
Jist  wait  till  possum  time, 
An'  then  ye'll  hear  me  shout! 

Prospu's  times  in  Crockett! 

Ol'  folks  ses:     "Abide 

In  meekness;  jist  be  'umble, 

So  as  to  stifle  pride, 

Or  else  the  dark  ill  omens 

Might  'nock  yer  luck  up." 


\VAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSJDE 

But  ah,  these  fields  of  sorghum 
I  fear  will  get  us  stuck  up. 

Prospu's  times  in  Crockett! 

Under  the  harvest  moon; 

Ry  groaning  crib  and  smoke-house, 

We'll  sing  a  merry  tune! 

An'  drink  the  good  oP  cider, 

That  heats  the  wine  tiv  France, 

To  raise  a  jubilee; 

An'  make  the  Deacon  dance. 


WAIFS  PROM  THE  WAYSIDE  HI 

GREECE. 

Still  in  the  heart  of  Greece 

Doth  burn  that  deathless  flame 
Of  martial  fire  that  gave 

Thermopylae  to  fame! 

On  her  heroic  shores, 

Where  glory  never  dies, 
The  spirit  of  the  past 

Doth  thrill  the  brave  who  rise- 
To  dare  a  world  in  arms, 

— Her  own  heroic  sons, 
Who  face  at  Glory's  call 

A  hell  of  battle  guns! 

The  proudest  star  that  rose 

Upon  the  antique  world, 
Still  points  to  deathless  years, 

With  Glory's  flag  unfurled. 

Nor  shall  the  aureole, 

Her  ancient  heroes  wrought, 
Fade  on  the  bloody  fields 

Of  battles  to  be  fought. 

Nor  shall  that  glorious  day, 
Bozzaris  died  to  save, 


WAIFS    FROM     THE  WAYSIDE. 

Fade  till  its  triumph  pales 
On  the  last  Grecian's  grave. 

Still  in  the  heart  of  Greece 

Dutli  burn  that  deathless  flame, 

That  brought  the  antique  world 
Jn  tribute  to  her  fame. 


SONG  OF  THE  BLUE  BIRD. 

The  sky  is  cold  and  bleak, 
And  frozen  is  the  ground; 

But  from  yon  shadowed  brake, 
There  comes  a  cheering  sound  — 
A  thrilling  note, 

Borne  from  the  blue  bird's  throat! 

And  now  1  know  the  skies, 

With  warmth  and  light  will  glow. 

And  herbs  and  flowers  rise, 
And  fragrant  zephyrs  blow — 
For  that  sweet  strain 

Has  never  come  in  vain! 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE  33 

ROSES  AND  THORNS. 

Tii rough  the  years, 

I  have  found  more  roses  t!r"i  thorns 
In  the  wilds  of  earth  and  Time; 

But  when  I  bowed  in  the  purpling  morn's 
Sweet  breeze,  and  its  light,  sublime, 

And  sighed  o'er  the  piercing  sting  of  a  thorn — 
That  I  might  have  unflinching  defied — 

I  saw  not  the  light  of  the  bright,  glad  moon; 
And  the  roses  all  drooped,  and  died. 

There  are  beauties  around  us  that  we  can  make  ours 

In  these  wilds  of  the  earth  world  gloom 
If  we  press,  unflinching,  o'er  thorns  to  the  flowers; 

And  gather  the  sweets  of  the  bloom. 
The  shadows  will  fall  down  under  our  feet 

If  we  bravely  reach  out  above 
For  the  light,  and  all  that  is  fair  and  sweet, 

That  leadeth  to  God  and  His  love. 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

FADELESS. 

Ah  me,  If  you  and  I 

Had  every  precious  flower 
That  in  the  buried  past  doth  lie, 

Dead  in  some  desert  bower — 
Because  we  did  not  speak 

A  kind  word  to  the  weak; 
Because  we  left  undone 

Some  golden  deed  that  might  have  won. 
For  these  sweet  flowers, 

The  life  and  strength  to  make  them  ours. 
— Forever  ours! 

Ah  yes,  if  we  had  these — all  these, 
No  dreams  of  wrecks  on  shoreless  seas 

Would  then  disturb  us  in  the  shades 
Of  life's  decline.     Nor  would  its  dismal  glades 

Be  hopeless.     Far  above 
Would  shine  the  Star  of  Love, 

By  Whose  eternal  light, 
Our  hearts  might  weaye  a  wreathe 

That  Time  .can  never  blight! 

But  let  us  not  despond, 
Or  sigh  for  what  has  been! 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

Press  ou,  and  look  beyond 

The  world's  dark  strife  and  dim. 

For  yet  do  golden  deeds  await 
The  touch  of  willing  hands; 

And  we  may  grasp,  through  any  fate, 
A  wreathe  to  give  us  strength, 

Amid  life's  ebbing  sands. 


WAIFS  FROM    THE  WAYSIDE 
LISTEN. 

All,  let  us  listen  awhile, 

And  the  sordid  things  forget. 

Where  over  each  weary  mile 

The  mortal  doth  worry-,  and  fret. 

For  the  happy,  happy  strains 
Of  a  sweet  felicity 

Are  weaving  their  golden  chains 
In  fetters  for  you  and  me. 

Do  you  hear  the  flowers  sigh 
In  their  sweetest  dreams  of  love? 

Or  the  clouds  that  scud  the  sky, 
As  they  echo  the  anthems  above? 

Do  you  hear  how  wondrous  sweet! 
That  sound  from  the  beams  of  the  moon, 

As  they  tread  with  their  unseen  feet, 
On  the  hearts  of  the  roses  in  June? 

Have  you  heard  the  delicate  sound 
That  comes  with  the  falling  snow 

As  it  folds  on  the  silent  ground 
The  violet  dreams  below? 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYsIDK 

Have  you  heard  all  these,  and  more 
That  110  pen  of  a  mortal  can  write; 

And  felt  that  the  glooms  that  lash  our  shore 
Have  beyond  them  no  deeps  of  light? 

God  ruleth.  His  wondrous  power 
Doth  reach  over  time  and  space — 

From  the  softest  flush  of  a  flower 
To  the  fartherest  planet's  trace. 

Ah,  let  us  listen  to-day; 
No  power  of  earth  made  these 

Sweet  echoes  that  fall  on  the  way 
In  their  wondrous  melodies. 

These  sounds  we  hear  from  the  beach 
Of  Celestial  bounds  above 

Are  the  echoes  of  ttie  angel  speech, 
That  telleth  of  God  and  his  Love! 


460076 


WAIFS  FKOM  THE  WAYSIDE 

JUNE.. 

Beyond  the  mystic  way, 

The  M;iytime  passes  away 

For  over  I, In:  hill.s  ;ire  born, 

In  I  he  glow  of  the  purpling  morn, 

From  the  buds  by  angels  sown, 

The  blooms  of  a  broader  life — 

Kor  the  roses  of  June  are   blown 

In  the  winds  by    their  fragrance    rife. 

What  wonders  in  sea.  and  sky 

Come  on  the  wake  of  June! 

My  pen  doth  fail,  and  I  sigh 

Kor  a,  word  that  late  or  soon, 

Might  speak  to  some    heart  in  doubt, 

Some  soul  in  the  shades  of  doubt 

Of  the  God,  who  made  all  these 

Strange  wonders  of  land  and  the  seas. 

For  then  I  would  tell  of  June, 

With  its  glories  beneath  the  sun; 

And  its  beauties    beneath    the  moon, 

As  a  wondrous  thought  of  One, 

Who  ruleth— a  poem  of  light, 

That  has  fallen  from   regions  above, 

Thrown  from  a    far  Celestial  height 

By  angels  to  tell  of  His  love! 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

IF  WE  HAD   KNOWN. 

The  thoughts  that  give  us  pain 
Are  thoughts  from  out  the  past, 

Sad  as  the  Autumn  rain, 
When  skies  are  overcast. 

For  there  are  deeds  undone- 
Undone  forever  now, 

The  deeds  that  might  have  won 
A  laurel  for  the  brow! 

And  there  are  others,  too, 
Mjsdeeds,  though  unawares, 

That  spring  beneath  the  blue 
In  gloomy  fields  of  tares. 

And  there  is  many  a  word, 
That  if  unspoken,  best — 

For  tender  hearts  that  heard, 
For  dear  hearts,  now  at  rest. 

And  there  are  others,  too, 
That  might  have  oft  been  said, 

To  pierce  a  shadow  through; 
And  bring  a  smile  instead! 

All  me,  how  changed  all  this, 
If  we  could  learn  in  youth. 


WAIFS    FROM     THE   WAYSIDE. 

The  secret  of  life's  bliss — 
That  one  immortal  truth! 

Hut  in  this  world  of  strife, 

Hearts  that  we  know  are  true, 
(3ft  loose  the  best  of  life 
In  learning  what  to  do. 


LOOKING  FORWARD. 

I  look  to  the  years  before  me, 
And  not  to  the  shades  of  the  past, 

And  brightly  the   skies  bend   o'er  me, 
And  around  me  no  shadow   is    cast. 

For  God,  who  gave  me  the  power, 

When  the  star  of  hope  in  the  Night 
Grew  dim— in  the    darkest  hour, 
To  fight  for  Love  and   the  Right  — 

—Still  liveth  and   ruleth  over 

Humanity's  hopes  and  fears- 
Still   liveth  and   ruleth  over 
Heart-throbs  of  the  stormful  years. 

I  look  to  the  years  before  rue, 
To  the  deeds  that  are  yet  undone, 

And  the  star  of  hope    shines  o'er   me, 
To  the  fields  that  may  be  won. 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE  41 

OUR  PART. 

How  sweet  will  be  our  rest,  if  when 
Our  grave  is  heaped  on  hill  or  glen, 
It  can  be  said,  that  through  the  years 
We've  rambled  in  this  "vale  of  tears," 
In  working  for  the  good  of  those — 
For  whose  delight  no  flower  grows — 
Or  sunbeam  shines;  but  only  tares, 
Along  the  lonely  thoroughfares. 
Grow  in  the  gloom;  and  no  respite 
From  suff'riug  makes  one  moment  bright, 
We  have  with  sympathetic  heart, 
And  self-denial  done  our  part. 


42  WAIFS    FROM   .THE   WAYSIDE. 

THE  GODDESS  OF  JUNE. 

My  Love  is  the  Goddess  of  June, 

With  her  roses,  born  of  the  sun, 
And  lilies,  dreaming  under  the  moon — 

In  the  gloom  of  the  lone  lagoon — 
Or  marsh  of  the  languid  rivers  that  run, 

With  plaint  and  murmur  on  to  the  sea, 
On  to  the  endless  deeps  of  the  sea. 

She  comes  with  a  smile  as  bright 

As  the  wondrous  dawns  that  rise 
At  the  magic  touch  of  life  and  light, 

Thro'  which  she  thrills,  by  the  right 
She  holds — the  world  'till  the  opal  skies 

Arch  over  a  glory,  all  her  own! 
Proclaiming  that  glory  all  her  own! 

And  then  she  reigneth — a  queen, 
And  fairer  than  thrones  have  known 

In  a  wondrous  realm,  with  its  shores  of  green, 
Where  the  hills  and  the  vales  between 

Are  bright  with  the  mystic  flowers,  blown 
From  the  gold  of  the  sun,  and  the   blue    of  the 
skies; 

From  the  sunrise  clouds  and  the  snow  of  the  skies  • 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYsIDE 

Her  courtieurs  are  the  Graces 
That  dance  to  the  harp  of  the  breeze; 

Bird  songs  in  Joj's  delightful  places; 
Sweet  sounds  where  the  brooklet  traces 

Its  wandering  way  by  the  fragrant  leas; 
And  the  deep,  lone  murmur  on  the  shore, 

Of  the  yearnful  waves  by  the  golden  shore. 

And  all  that  is  wondrous  rare 
In  beauty  that  earth  can  boast; 

From  the  vales  and  hillsides  everywhere ; 
From  the  valleys,  broad  and  fair, 

That  stretch  away  to  the  dreamful  coast — 
In  its  loyeliest  form  is  at  her  feet — 

In  all  of  its  glory,  is  at  her  feet. 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

THE  GLORY  OF  LIFE. 

The  glory  of  life  begins 
Beyond  the  verge  of  Time; 

The  years  are  dark  with  sins; 
And  the  nations  stained  with  crime, 

But  the  glory  of  life  begins 
Beyond  the  verge  of  Time. 

The  shadows  that  fall  to-day 
Are  fleet  as  the  break  of  a  wave; 

There  is  sorrow  and  thorns  on  the  way; 
And  agony  points  to  the  grave, 

But  the  shadows  that  fall  to-day 
Are  fleet  as  the  break  of  a  wave. 

God  reigneth!     Eternity's  dawu 
In  His  wonderful  power  shall  rise, 

Shining  on  and  always  on, 
With  His  light  in  its  cloudless  skies. 

God  reigneth!     Eternity's  dawn 
In  his  wonderful  power  shall  rise. 

The  glory  of  life  begins 
Beyond  the  verge  of  Time. 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE     -  45 

For  Purity  blooms  o'er  sius; 

And  Truth  doth  rise  o'er  crime; 
And  the  glory  of  life  begins 

Beyond  the  verge  of  Time. 


46  WAIFS  FROM    THE  WAYSIDE 

EASTER. 

How  sweet  is  this  day  of  days — 
That  coines  to  the  world  so  bright — 

With  hope,  and  joy,  and  praise 

For  him,  who  hath  broken  the  chains  of  Night! 

The  flowers  that  bloom  out  there, 
By  the  fields  and  the  hillsides  boru, 

Come  forth  from  earth  as  the  fair 

Sweet  types  of  the  Resurrection  morn. 

And  all  that  is  fair  and  bright ; 

Bird  songs;  and  the  hymns  that  rise; 
The  roses;  the  breeze  and  the  light, 

That  floods  the  earth  with  its  cloudless  skies — 

But  point  for  our  hearts  above, 

From  a  life  that  is  fleet  as  a  breath, 

To  the  realms  of  Eternal  Love, 

To  the  Christ  who  hath  conquored  the  grave, 
and  Death. 


WAIFS  FtlOM  THE  WAYSIDE  47 

HOPE. 

Thou  art  an  angel  with  a  lamp, 
That  shines  through  regions,  lone  and  damp. 
Sweet  hope!     Ah,  were  it  not  for  thee, 
What  would  Time's  vale  of  shadows  be? 

Would  ever  one  sweet  glimpse  of  dawn, 
Bright  herbenger  of  Day,  steal  on, 
Along  the  shadows,  or  one  star 
Shine  on  the  night-shades  from  afar"? 

Would  flowers  ever  bloom?    Would  Peace 
Smile  then  for  War's  dark  frowns  to  cease? 
Would  Love  still  live?     Would  faith  e'er  dream 
Of  shores  beyond  the  Jordan  stream? 


48  WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

GOD'S  WAY  IS  BEST. 

If  all  the  3rears  were  happy  years, 
The  mortal  would  have  no  thought 

Of  a  world,  that  over  the  mists  of  hope  and  fears, 
By  the  lamp  of  Faith  is  sought. 

God  knoweth  best.     He  made  the  shades, 
That  over  the  soul,  doth  fall  so  deep, 

But  he  placed  a  light  beyond  the  dismal  glades, 
Whei'e  the  breaking  heart  doth  weep. 

God's  way  is  not  ours.     We  would  make 

Earth  pleasures  our  all — forget 
His  blessings,  if  pain   and   sorrow   came    not    to 
awake 

Our  hearts  in  their  wild  regret! 

Forget — were  it  not  for  the  fiery  trials  that    bin  n 
The  dross  from  our  lives,  and  leave  the  Love 

That  riseth  over  the  marble  bust  and  the  urn 
To  the  peace  and  joy  of  angel  throngs  abo\e. 

God's  way  is  best; 

And  best  that  the  years  are  dark   and  lonesome 
years — 


WAIFS  FUOM  THE  WAYSIDE  49 

For  it  points  to  the  endless  time  of  the  blest, 
Thro'  the  mist  of  sorrow,   ahd  pain,  and  hopes, 
and  fears. 


A  BATTLE  SCENE. 

The  scene  was  grand.  The  battle  raged, 
With  roar  ahd  din  and  caution's  flash, 

And  clouds  of  blinding  smoke  that  rolled 
Like  vapors  from  a  pot  of  hash  ! 


THE  SUMMER  BAIN. 

When  the  hills  have  felt  the  drouth, 
In  the  fervid  sun  of  the  South, 
When   the  long  ween  blades  of  com 
Twist  up  in  the  sultry  morn, 
When  'reft  of  the   glittering  dews, 
The  blooms  of  the  cotton  loose 
Their  beauteous  tints   of  cream, 
In  the  lull  of  a  noontide  dream, 
And  the  flowers  droop   in  the    hedge, 
By  the  woods  and  the  waste  of  sedge 
How  sweet  to  the  growing  crops, 
Are  the  first  few  ruurmering  drops 
That  come  with  the  cooling  gust, 
And  the  scent  of  the  sprinkled   dust! 

Ah!  gone  are  the  dust  and  the   heat, 
And  now  in  the    village  street, 
In  the  farmer's  home  by  the  leas, 
Neath   the  old  ancestral  trees, 
In  the  rude  cot  hid  in  the  waste 
By  the  deep  red  gullies  traced, 
With  the  joy  of  the  watered  earth, 
All  hearts  are  beaming    with  mirth! 

New  life  in  the  solitudes 

Of  the  dim  and  pathless  woods! 


WAIFS  PROM  THE  WAYSIDE  51 

New  life   in  the  field  iind  hedge 
Andtlie  thicket  iiud  waste  of  sedge! 
And  liroke  is  the  solemn  hush 
Hy  song  and  the  brooklet's  rush! 

And  I  think   how  thankful  to  God, 
Who  waters  the  teeming  sod, 
For  this  blessing  given  so  free 
Should  the  hearts  of  mortals  be! 


WAIFS  FROM   THE  WAYSIDE 


MELANCHOLY. 

Where  grim  misfortune's  phases 
O'ercasi,  the  light  of  morn, 
I've  I  rod  life's  roughest  places 
'I'ill  many  a  piercing  thorn 
Has  left  its  weary   traces; 
Has  left  me  restless 
And  forlorn. 

The  day  is  tilled  with  pleasures 

Kor  ot  hers  and  I  see 

Them  chase  their  phantom  treasures, 

Light  hearted,  wild  and  free, 

But  oh,  how  drear  its  measures 

Of  weary  hours, 

And  gloom  for  me! 

The  banquet  hall  is  gleaming 

Across  you  noisy  street 

With  mirth  and  wine  are  beaming 

The  hours  at  pleasure's  feet. 

But  here  there  are  no  dreaming 

Bright  eyes.    The  hours 

Have  leaden  feet. 

Thus  daytime— night  time,  lighted 
With  sweetest  joys  for  some, 


WAIFS  PROM  THE  WAYSIDE  53 

In  lenderest  love  are  plighted 
Along  the  path  they  come, 
But  tliere  for  me  are  blighted 
The  flowers  and  sunshine, 
The  music  dumb. 

Why  thus?     Where  duty  calls  me 

I  try  to    go— I  try 

Whatever  fate  befalls  me 

To  do  beneath  the  sky 

Above  the  chain  that  thralls  me 

A  work  for  others 

Before  I  die 

But  ah  am   I  complaining? 

I  meant  not  to  complain 

To  God's  own  will  disdaining 

The  ills  of  life,  I   fain 

Would  bow.    If  drear  and  raining 

Look  to  the  future 

Work  in  the  rain. 


WAIFS  PROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

IN    THE   WOODS. 

I  love    these  grand 

Old  Solitudes, 
These  sylvan   deeps, 

These  pathless  woods; 
For  when  with  weary 

Throbbing  bntin, 
And  yearning   bosom 

Dull  with  pain, 
I  long  for  rest 

1  llinl    it  here 
In  this  serener 

Atmosphere, 
In  tranquil  moments 

Of  release 
From  toil  blessed. 

With  holy   peace! 


WAIP8  PROM  THE  WAYSIDE 


55 


HARD  TIMES. 

I  don't  know  what  on  earth  to  do 

The  times  are  frightening, 
My  pocket  book,  like  thunder  clouds, 
Is  ever  lightening. 


GEN    N    B 

\Jli—ll   T  •  ™  •        LJ>  • 


By  AARON  Q.  DAVIS,  D  .  E  (SBURG. 


I  saw  the  dread  eclipse 
Of  doomful  \var's  death  shadows  rest 
Upon  the  South,  as  she  was  pressed 

To  Glory's  Bloody  lips. 

Then  in  the  face  of  doom 
I  saw  one  matchless  hero  rise — 
A  meteor  in  the  stonn-lashed  skies, 

Hash  through  the  dreadful  gloom. 

That  hero  was  the  grand 
And  glorious  chief,  who  through  the  red 
Flames  of  a  hell  of  battle  led 

The  one  unconquered  band. 

'T\vas  Forrest,  from  whose  sword 
Flashed  rays  of  hope  through  dark  despaifj 
And  set  Ihc  seal  of  triumph  where 

A  nation's  blood  \vas  poured. 

'Twas  this  unconquered  knight, 
Who  with  a  few  proud  heroes  dared 
A  world  in  arms,  till  all  hope  flared — 

And  never  lost  a  fight. 

Where  war's  dread  thunders  crashed 
The  loudest  in  the  bloody  fray- 
Where  thickest  death  shots  mowed  their  way, 

His  sword  in  triumph  flashed. 

And  when  at  last  he  stood, 
Unconquered,   with  the  dreadful  gloom 
And  sorrow  of  his  country's  doom 
So  dark  around  him  cast- 
In  Southland's  gloom  and  tears, 
Fame  from  her  throne  of  glory  down, 
Bent  low  with  his  immortal  crown, 
For  all  the  deathless  years. 


56  WAIFS    FROM     THE  WAYSIDE. 

LONGING. 

I  long  for  a  glimpse  of  dawn 

For  a  gleam  of  sunshine  stealing  on 

Over  the  shadows  of  crime; 
And  I  dream  of  a  time  to  be, 

Of  a  near  and  nearing  time 
When  all  men  shall  be  free. 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE'  57 

THE  HOURS. 

The  hours  arc  .seraph  messengers, 

That  come  to  us  by  day  and  night 
From  one  who  keeps  the  record  of  the  years, 

The  angel  who  doth  write 
The  story  of  our  deeds, 

As  time  recedes 
With  opportunities  of  light, 

And  love  and  hope,  beyond  our  sight. 

And  every  hour 

That  brings  from  out  the  gates  of  Morn 
A  gleam  of  sunshine  or  a  flower,       ~  •>,,-": 

A  shadow  or  a  thorn, 
Through  which  is  rounded  and  complete 

A  day  of  toiling;  or  the  sweet, 
The  ever  blessed    , 

And  welcome  breathing  time  of  rest! 

Yes,  every  hour,  when  it  hath  flown 

To  the  bar  of  of  the  last  court, 
Through  mystic  shadows  of  the  vast  Unknown, 

Doth  make  report! 

And  all  that  ever  come  will  bear 
To  that  great  Judgment  Bar 


58  WAIFS    FROM     THE   WAYSIDE. 

Beyond  the  fartherest  star; 

From  every  field  of  strife  aud  care ; 
From  every  life,  a  deed  or  thought, 

That  shall  be  caught 
From  the  angelic  messenger, 

Into  a  smile  or  melt  into  a  tear 
Upon  the  page  of  destiny 

That  holds  Eternity ! 

Ah,  why  s.hould  phantoms  lure 

Us  on,  until  we  tread 
Forbidden  shores  where  shadows  blur 

The  brightness  o'erhead; 
And  the  ill  messages  of  sordid  deeds 

Be  borne  from  us,  while  Virtue  intercedes, 
And  Purity  and  Love  and  Hope  and  Truth 

That  this  old  world  may  better  be 
That  we  have  lived — from  roseate  youth 

To  the  last  opportunity, 
That  fades  where  twilight  hills  are  gray 

"When  the  last  hour  doth  pass  away, 
With  its  report  to  seal  our  destiny 

For  all  there  is  in  vast  Eternity! 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE  59 

THO  „  GHTS. 

Some-  thoughts  like  flowers  grow, 

In  tenderness,  and  these  are  sweet, 
Blown  when  the  dawn  is  bending  low; 

But  some,  pushed  from  the  furnace,  glow 
Like  sun-rays  of  the  noontide  heat. 

These  gently  breathe  thro'  heart  and  mind 
The  sweets  of  Beauty's  spirit    deeps; 

Those*with  the  fires  of  passion  blind, 
Fill  souls  that  rise  and  weep  to  find, 

They  cannot  reach  the  glory  steeps. 


60  WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYi-IDE 


'TIS  SUMMER. 

'Tis  summer. 

Arouud  our  radiant  zone 

There  is  a  wealth  of  flowers  that  splash  the  seas  of  green 

With  Beauty — Sweep  with  glory  Arctic  wastes 

Of  snow,  and  break  in  cliffs  of  gold 

And  clouds  of  emerald  and  mists  of  rubies. 

In  reaching  out  to  catch  the  glow  of  tropics 

The  sunshine  splashes  streams  of  amythist ; 

And  all  the  hours,  as. they  pass 

From  proud  Aurora's  throne 

Down  to  the  Golden  Gate, 

Keep  time  to  soft,  sweet  music  of  the  bi-eezes 

Uhat  whisper  all  the  golden  secrets 

Of  many  a  wonderland 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

LOST  PLEASURES. 

The  shadows  fall,  and  tbe  silence — 
And  the  sheeted  memories  tread, 

Tread  over  the  heart  with  sadness 
That   comes  from  the  gloom  of  the  dead. 

Then  cometli  the  pain  and  the  heartache, 
That  burden  the  spirit  the  most, 

With  the  ghosts  of  pleasures  once  ours, 
But  lost  on  a  stormful  coast. 


61 


WAIFS  FROM    THE  WAYSIDE 

TENNESSEE. 

The  brightest  star  in  all  the  galaxy 

Of  States  is  Tennessee.     In  triumphs  won 

On  Freedom's  battle  fields;  in  glory  wrought 

Through  intellectual  power,  she  stands  alone, 

And  all  the  sister  baud  are  satellites, 

That  through  her  splendor  shine. 

This  grand  old  State 

Has  stood  the  test  of  fire  and  blood.     Her  sons 
Were  at  the  front  upon  the  bloody  crest — 
Of  old  Kings  Mountain,  and  turned  back   the  title 
Of  dark  disaster  that  had  settled  down 
On  Freedom's  cause.     Her  sons  were  at  the  front 
In  all  the  savage  wars  and  massacres, 
From  the  Ohio  to  the  Southern  Gulf, 
And  as  a  heritage  to  peoples  yet 
Unborn,  they  gave  a  conquored  wilderness 
For  glorious  states  to  rise  with  human  hopes 
And  destinies.     Her  SOPS  were  at  the  front 
At  New  Orleans,  where  Andrew  Jackson's  sword 
Beat  back  the  British  legions,  in  the  gloom 
That  on  our  country's  glory  fell,  and  through 


WAIP6  FUOM  THE  WAYSIDE  (5 

That  glorious  triumph  raised  our  feeble  land 

From  a  dim  satellite  of  England's  power 

To  where  but  stars  of  the  first  magnitude 

Can  ever  shine.     Her  sons  were  at  the  front 

On  the  red  plains  of  Mexico,  and  won 

A  triumph  that  has  stretched  our  proud  domains 

From  Louisiana,  to  the  Golden  Gate. 

Her  sons  were  at  the  front  upon  the  heights 

Of  Gettysburg,  in  Glory's  van  with  Lee, 

And  it  was  only  when  their  hero  forms, 

Amid  the  cheers  of  Christendom,  had  borne 

A  people's  hope  into  the  jaws  of  death, 

And  fell — 'Twas  only  when  these  mangled  braves 

Lay  in  their  gore,  beneath  the  flaming  hell 

Of  battle,  that  there  came  on  through  the  fight — 

On  through  the  dread  delirium  and  gloom, 

The  awful  death  cry  of  a  nation  lost — 

The  darkness  that  doth  follow  in  the  wake 

Of  a  bright  star  that  flares  and  falls  in  space. 

Her  heroes  sleep  on  every  battle  field, 

Between  our  ocean  bounds — her  martyred  sons, 

Who  won  for  her  beyond  the  reach  of  all 

Her  sisters  in  the  glorious  galaxy 

Of  States — the  title  that  she  proudly  wears, 

The  "Volunteer." 


64  WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

Yet,  all  this  glory  wrought 
In  war,  is  but  the  halo  of  her  fame. 
No  nation  on  this  planet  ever  gave 
A  prouder  page  of  civic  history 
To  Time  and  Glory,  than  the  scroll  that  bears 
The  record  of  the  sous  of  Tennessee. 
Her  God-like  sons,  whose  eloquence  has  thrilled 
The  multitude,  or  awayed  the  giant  minds 
Of  Senates,  through  the  storms   and   chaos   of   the 

strife 

Of  mighty  elements — her  God-like  sons, 
Who  at  the  nation's  helm,  have  proudly  held 
Our  destiny,  and  landed  the  old  ship 
In  safety,  amid  Dissension's  reefs, 
And  thunder  bolts  of  War! 

0.  grand  old  State, 

My  native  land,  this  pen  is  weak!     Thy  eons 
Of  chivalry!     Thy  daughters,  in  whose  lives 
Is  born  all  that  the  gods  might  ever  dream 
Of  Grace  and  Beauty!     Institutions  reared 
To  Learning,  Progress,  Christianity. 
Thou,  proud  clime  of  the  sun,    where  the  oppressed 
From  every  land  find  refuge,  Tennessee! 
Thy  memories,  thy  sacred  soil,  thy  dead, 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE  65 

t 

Thy  glory — For  all  these  an  angel's  harp; 

An  angel's  tongue  may  strike  a  note  of  praise; 

Not  mine.     For  thou  doest  hold  tbe  beacon  light 

That  shines  on  highest  planes  of  destiny 

For  human  hopes — and  thine  the  aureole! 

And  thine  the  envy  of  all  Modern  pride; 

With  all  the  grandeur  of  antiquity, 

With  Greece  and  Rome  in  homage  at  thy  feet. 


66  WAIFS   PROM     THE   WAYSIDE. 

AN  ANSWEtl. 

Self  ease  you  say  is  best; 

Aspiring    bringeth    pain, 
To    rend  the  chords 

Within    the  breast 
Ami  melt  the  heart  in  ruin. 

For  disappointments    blight 
The  flowers  of  hope  and  ease, 

And  shipwrecked  lives 
Float  through  the  night 

Where  roll  Ambition's  seas. 

Then  go,  the  glow    worm  chase, 
Nor  strive  for  the  pure  light 

Of  stars  that   bring 
From   boundless  space 

An  aureole  for  Night. 

Heroic  lives  that  trace 
Thro'  time's  untraveled    seas, 

A  pathway  for 
The    human    race 

Were  never  made  for  ease. 

Thro'  desert  deeps  they  break 
The  danger  and  the  gloom, 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE  07 

And  the  dawn  doth    follow 

In  their  wake 
And  Truth's  bright  flow'rs  bloom. 

And    if  they  suffer  there 

The  fate  that  giveth  stones 
For  bread  and  through 

The  heart's  despair 
To  desert  wolves  their  bones, 

Christ  suffered,  then  why  frown 

And  cower  at  the  loss 
Of  hope  and  ease; 

There  is  no  crown 
Unless  there  be  a  cross. 

Where  fades  the  herioscope 

And  all  the  stars  above 
Grow  dim  there  shines 

O'er  shipwrecked  hope 
The  light  of  truth  and  love. 

There  blooms  from  sliat'r'd  dreams 

The  spirit's  bitter-sweet, 
And  through  heroic 

Lives,  extremes 
Of  lights  and  shadows  meet. 


68  WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE 

But  by  and  by   the  gloom 
And   burdens  all  will  cease 

And  immortelles 
Of  hope  shall  bloom 

In  endless  realms  of  peace. 

The  victor's  triumph  ground 
Shall  know  no  doom  of  loss; 

No   heartache  pain — 
There   is    a   crown 

And  joy  beyond  the  cross. 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE  £',> 

PEACE  AND  REST. 

After  the  fitful  fever; 

After  the  trials  that  come  in  the  strife, 
The  sundown  shadows  gather 

At  the  close  of  a  beautiful  life. 
The  sundown  shadows  gather, 

But  over  the  mists  in  the  West, 
There  are  dawns  of  the  years  that    are  endless; 

There  is  Peace  with  God — and  Rest. 


70  WAIFS  FROM    THE  WAYSIDE 

GOLDEN  ROD. 

The  golden  days 

Glow  through  the  semblance  of  a  haze; 
And  from  the  fields  and  hills 

The  bottom's  woodland  gloom 
I  catch  a  breath  that  thrills 

A  glimpse  of  tender  bloom 
Of  Golden  Rod. 

From  shady  nooks 

And  shrubberies  of  the  winding  brooks 
And  from  the  thorny  hedge, 

Where  grape-vine  tendrils  creep, 
And  old  field  wastes  of  sedge, 

In  radiant  glory  peeps 
The  Golden  Rod. 

Where  falls  the  light 

On  ripening  corn,  and  fields  grow  white 
With  drifts  of  fleecy  snow; 

Where  Nature's  deepening  tinge 
Of  rich  bright  colors  glow 

There  is  a  beauteous  fringe 
Of  Golden  Rod. 


\VAIP8  VftOM  THE  WAYSIDE  71 

We  love  these  flowers, 

That  sprinkle  fall  like  golden  showers, 
And  wake  the  past  once  more 

The  thoughts  of  other  days 
'Till  Childhood's  golden  shore 

Comes  back  amid  a  haze 
Of  Golden  Rod. 


I'l  WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYsIDE 

THE  OLD  YEA  LI  AND  THE  NEW. 

The  moon  was  pule  on  the  desolate  wold, 
And  Hie  lights  of  the  village,  one  by  one, 

Went,  out/  till  the  last  lone  glimmering    >quare 
Had  sunk  in  the  gloom  of  the  buried  sun. 

And  the  nicht  was  sad  for   the  dear  Old  Year 
Was  passing  away  to  the  silent  shore, 

And  I  turned  from  the  clock  that  I  might  not  know 
When  the  last   brief  moment  would  whimper  "no 
more." 

And  as  1  stood  in  the  silence  and  gloom 
The  moon  grew  dim  on  the  desolate  wold 

And    the  stillness   broke  with  a  doleful  sound 
For  the  Year  was  dead  and  the  bells  were  tolled. 

The  bells    were  tolled,  and   a  thousand  thoughts 
Came    over  my  heart  from  memory's  deep — 

Of  buried    loves   and  of  hopes  now  dead; 
Of  thrilling  ambitions  fallen  to  sleep. 

The  bells    were    tolled,   and  across  the  snow 
The  silence  was  broken  by  sobs  and  sighs, 

By  these  alone  in  the  cold  and  the  gloom, 
And  the  sadness  under  the  leaden  skies. 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  WAYSIDE  73 

The  bells  were   tolled,  the  Old  Year  was  (le;id, 
But,  Lhe  New  Year  was  with  us  as  fair, 

As  an  atitfel,  and  thought  I  of  this  as    the  bells 
Were  told  in  the  gloom  and  the  silence  there. 

I  thought  of  the  light  the  Old  Year  had  left, 

''•       '  UM  .  \        j'       :  'i| 

Of  thoughts   and  deeds  more   precious  than  gold 
And  even  of  shadows  we  would   not  forget, 
Sad  treasures  for  many  a  heart  to  hold. 

,MI«.;J  f4-.it  ffi.Hi  A'   .*    r.  *!..»'    •.  •/   ;    ,.. 

And  as  these  thoughts  of  the  Old  and  the  New. 

Passed  over  my  heart,  the  tones  of  the  bells 
Were  changed  and  they  rang  in  a  rapt  delight, 

Till  their  melody  awakened  the  hills  and  the  dells. 

And  I  saw  that  the  stars  were  peeping  afraid 
At  the  flush  iu  the  East,  where  the  New    Year 
was  born, 

And  the  moon  hid  under  the  woods  in  the  West, 
And  the  world  was  glad  with  tne  golden  morn. 

The  Old  Year  is  dead.     The  New  Year  is  here. 

The  one  but  a  dream's  dim  shadow  now, 
The  other  a  field  for  glorious  deeds, 

And  chaplets  for  many  a  hero's  brow. 


74  WAIFS  FROM   THE  WAY>IDE 

CHRISTMAS. 

As  shepherds  kept  their  vigils 

On  Judean  hills  by  night, 
The  light  of  the  first  Christmas 

Burst  from  the  skies  iii  splendor  bright; 
And  angels  brought  glad  tidings, 

Undreamed,  unknown  by  mortal  ken, 
Of  a  Babe  in  the  manger, 

Of  "Peace  on  earth;  good  will  to  men  " 

The  ages  had  been  stormful; 

And  brooding  darkness  had  not  ceased. 
But  a  new  star  in  Heaven 

Had  startled  wise  men  of  the  East! 
Had  burst  in  new  born  glory; 

And  all  who  saw  its  light  had  beeu 
Confounded  with  its  message 

Of  -'Peace  on  earth;  goodwill  to  men." 

The  light  of  the  first  Christmas 

Had  fallen  from  the  angels'  wings; 

And  time  had  caught  the  glory 

That  burst  forth  o'er  the  King  of  Kings : 


WAIFS  FROM  THE  AVAYSIDE  75 

And  ever  sweet  and  holy 
•    Hath  dear  old  Christmas  been  since  then; 
And  fraught  with  benedictions 
Of  "Peace  on  earth ;  good  will  to  men." 

And  always  sweet  and  holy, 

When  bright  flames  of  the  yule  log  flare; 
And  if  it  seemeth  mei'ry, 

It  is  because  all  thoughts  of  care 
And  the  tiresome  days  ot  toiling 

Are  banished  from  our  pathway  then — 
Are  banished  in  the  glory 

Of  "Peace  on  earth;  good  will  to  men." 

Beneath  the  festooned  clusters 

Of  holly  and  the  mistletoe. 
What  happy  hearts!     Remembrance 

And  offerings  of  love  that  glow 
Into  the  distant  future 

To  live  in  bloom  and  sunshine  when 
Dark  realities  challenge, 

This  "Peace  on  earth;  good  will  to  men." 

Ah,  blest  and  holy  Christmas, 

How  sweet  thy  light  doth  linger  on — 


76  WAIFS    PROM     THE   WAYSIDE. 

Oil  from  the  golden  sunset 
Of  one  until  another's  dawn. 

Grown  old  and  tiresome  never, 

But  always  hailed  with  rapture  when 

It  bringeth  to  the  nations 

Its  "Peace  on  earth;  good  will  to  men." 


WAIFS  FUOM  THE  WAYSIDE  77 

THE  OLD  CONFEDERATE. 
At  the  Re -union. 

Tlie  frost  of  many  years 

Is  on  his  proud  devoted  head, 
As  down  life's  dim  decline   he  nears 

The  bivouac  of  the  dead. 

The  storms  are  in  the  past 

And  honored  is  each  battle  scar 
That   he  doth  wear  from  out  the  blast 

And  blood   of   the  great  war. 

And  though  the  cause  was  lost 

For  which  he   fought   so  nobly   through 

The  storms  that  o'er  his  country  tossed 
The  clouds  that  hid  the  blue, 

A  people's  gratitude 

In  sunshine  o'er  him  fell  to-day, 
And  in  a  sweet  devotion  strewed 

The  flowers  on  his  way. 

And  when  at  last   he  rests 

His    weary  head  upon  the  clod 


\V  A  1 FS  F  l<  O  M  T  H  K  W  A  Y  S I D  E 

His  name,  his  memory  shall  be  blessed 
In  his  last  sleep  with  God — 

And  when  the  roll  on  High 

Is  called,    he'll  stand    with  Lee,    once   more, 
In  the  great  dawn  beyond   the  sky, 

With  comrades  gone   before. 


WAI  I'd  PltOM  TUR  WAYSIDB 

NOVEMBER. 

The  corn  is  shocked  in  the   hollow, 
And  the  cotton  fields  are  white; 

The  rugged  hills  in  the  distance 
Grow  dim  in  the  smoky  light. 

The  lingering  birds  are  chirping 

In  the  boughs  of  the  sighing  hedge, 

Where  the  lonely  flowers  are  blooming; 
And  the  rabbit  hides  in  the  sedge. 

The  lark  is  gay  where  the  meadow 
Is  sprinkled  with  tinted  leaves; 

And  the  partridge,  over  the  thicket, 
Is  piping  among  the  sheaves. 

And  when  the  sundown  has  faded; 

And  the  night  comes,  bleak  and  chill, 
And  I  hear  the  horn  of  the  hunter 
Break  over  the  distant  hill. 

Where  the  dim,  red  moon  is  rising 

Over  a  path  that  is  traced 
Across  the  woodland,  I  wander 

To  a  cot  half  hid  in  the  waste — 


80  WAIFS  PROM    THE  WAYSIDE 

To  a  cot  where  fagots  burn  brightly 
As  the  hour  is  wearing  late, 

And  two  bright  eyes  af;  the  window 
In  the  gloaming  watch  and  wait. 


THE  REASON. 


There's  many  a    poor  old  man  who  keepeth    "bach' 
Because  through  social  jars  and  knocks, 

He  could  not  strike  the  matrimonial  match 

, 

Upon  the  money  box! 


WAIFS  FltoM  TUB  WAYSIDK  81 


DARKNESS  AND   LIGHT. 

Between  the  "mists  of  two  eternities," 
The  Whence  and  Whither  of  the  vast  Unknown, 
Untraveled  space  in  which  the  finite  mind, 
That  tries  to  grasp,  throws  dizzy,  sinks  in  awe — 
Amid  this  midnight  gloom,  these  torturing  ills, 
This  maze  of  doubt,  in  this  dim  vale  of  Time — 
No  soul  should  fall  in  darkness.     Then*  is  light 
To  this  old  earth- world;  and  whatever  storms 
May  frown  and  rage,  if  we  are  brave  and  true 
Through  struggles  of  the  darkness,  we  can  reach 
The  light,  and  standing  like  the  mighty  Oak, 
Unshaken  by  the  tempest,  spurn  the  ills 
Of  life,  the  blasts  of  time;  and  challenge  fate. 

There's  a  little  silver  cord  that  binds 
Us  to  the  narrow  span  of  mortal  years, 
A  few  brief  days,  a  tender,  fragile  thread. 
To  which  we  cling  with  such  tenacious  grasp. 
With  all  our  being's  feverish  desire 
Through  childhood's  days  of  cart'-unfettered  glt-e. 
When  all  is  bright  and  fair  and  sweet  content. 
Through  youth's  bright  vistas'  of  unclouded  skies, 
Ami  sunshine  gleams  and  roses  and  romance. 
Through  all  the  rainbow  promise  of  the  years, 
Where  sunshine  smiles  through  swift   vicissitudes 
Into  our  hearts  that  beat  so  high  and  warm, 
In  sweet  felicity, — in  raptured  bliss; 


8,2  WAIFS  FKOM  THK  WAYSIDE 

Bill  when  the  shadows,  falling,  dark  and  deep, 
H:ive  brought  a  fearful  shudder  to  the  son], 
At  that  dark  threshold,  where  we  yearn. to  sink 
In  blank  forgetfulness,  forever  lost. 
It'  l lint  were  all  that  follows  after  (It-nth, 
In  blank  forget  fulness  or  try  the  dread 
Realities  of  all  there  is  beyond 
The  dreary  mists  tliat  vail  the  vast  unknown; 
It  is  that  little  silver  thread  we  held. 
So  precious,  in  the  days  that  are  no  more — 
That  shackles  out'  poor  flesh,  that  goads  and  palls, 
That  binds  the  soul  in  cankering,  loathsome  gloom 
(.1  Tortu  re's  prison  walls;  that  little  thread, 
So  easy  snapped,  and  yet,  so  terrible 
Is  that  dread  thought,  we  shrink  back,  and  endure 
The  ills  that  haunt  this  weary  pilgrimage 
Of  darkness  through  the  desert  waste  of  Time. 

We  stand  by  mouldering  stones  of  fallen  shrines 
That  glow  no  longer  with  devotion's  fires; 
By  dreary  deserts,  where  the  hand  of  Fate 
Ha*  strewn  the  ashes  of  our  fondest  dreams; 
By  changes  sad  in  regions  haunted  now 
Willi  irhosts  of  phantoms  that  we  used  to  chase; 
By  foot -prints  that  have  made  the  drifting  sod 
In  which  they  have  been  traced  a  hallowed  spot; 
By  cold,  gray  mounds,  where  sleeps  the  dreamless  dust, 
Forever  sacred  to  Love's  burning  kiss. 
By  all  of  these  and  more, — far,  more  than  these — 
The  shadows,  too,  that  we  would  not  forget; 


iiuM  TtlK  WAYstDK 

The  memories,  sweet  treasures,  painful  now, 
But  holy, — ever  hoarded  though  they  flood 
The  spirit  till  the  heart  in  anguish  bleeds 
For  that  which  never,  never  can -return. 

But  some  of  it»  bare  reached  stiTT  JarRer  scenes; 
When  all  the  weary  strife  at  Duty's  front 
And  all  the  battles,  fought  for  others,  fought, 
Through  sacrifice  of  self  and  all  there  is' 
in  happiness  for  mortals  here  on  earth 

nless  it  be  that  grand  consuming  fire, 
That  burning  fever,  more  than  di'iug  thirst,''  '•'•• 
To  live  in  hearts  that  beat  forever  true, —  >*'•'  ' 
When  all  that  we  could  do  is  doue  and  Fate 
Has  cast  us  down — 0  draught  of  wormwood  then, 
For  all  to  be  forgot;  for  Slander's  tongue 
To  lacerate  our  poor  defenseless  hearts, 
And  brand  us  with  Dishonor's  loathsome  curse,— 
Outcast  in  exile  gloom— a  fallen  wretch 
Beneath  the  hisses  -t>f  the  multitude, 
Scorn  of  the  cold  and  sordid—it  is  then,       : 
O,  then,  the  days  are  dark  that  dawn  for  us, 
Days  when  we  gaze  across  the  dreary  earth 
For  one  bright  gleam  of  comfort,  gaze  in  vain, 
Until  the  heart  an  anguish  sinks,  and  tears 
For  4 hat  which  cannot  be  gush  from  its  fount, 
Consumed  by  raging  fires  within,  unshed 
To  quench  the  parched  and  fevered  drouth  of  pale 
And  haggard  cheeks  that  blanch  in  hopeless  gloom- 
In  hopeless  gloom  that  fills  the  mournful  waste 


S4.  WAIP8  FRoM    THK 


Between  the  Past  and  all  I  lie  Future's  mist, 
Where  all  we  cherish  from  our  yearning  cla^p 
Has  fled,  and  all  Ambition's  blasted  dreams 
Are  but  f-rim  skeletons  that  mock  our  fate 
Through  all  the  vast  salt  emptiness  of  life. 

Then  is  it  true  that  we  can  ever  turn 
From  scenes  like  these  —  from  Darkness  to  the  Li^ht. 
In  this  old    worldf     Ah  me,  in    passing   through 
These  dreadful  scenes  ot  darkness  T  have  found 
That  it   is  true,  .this   Light  beyond   the  gloom 
For  1  have  reached  it  through  the   multiform  — 
The  myriad  pangs,  excruciating  ill«, 
The  deep  unfathomed  gloom,  —  and  more, 
The  seciet  I   have    found-  -the   precious  gift 
Through  which  the  bright   side  glory    I  can  reach 
And  turn  upon  the  dark  with  loathing  scorn. 
And  Duty  is  that  secret.     Cheer  the  weak, 
And  raise  the  fallen,  reach  a    helping  hand 
To  feed  the    hungry,    soothe  the    suffering  wretch, 
And  you  will  loathe  as  trash  the  miser's   gold: 
And  though  forgotton  all  you  ever  dare, 
In  shadows  of  Dishonor's  loathsome  curse, 
Though  day  may  dawn   too  cold  and  full  of  gloom 
To  wear  a  wreath  of  sunshine  on  its  brow, 
Though  never  one  lone   semblance  of  a  star 
May   shine  along  the  dreary  waste  of  night, 
Though  traces  of  excruciating   ills 
May  burn  too  deep  for  balm  to  ever  reach, 
Though  yearning  Hope   may  never  catch  a  glimpse 


WAIP.S  FltDM  THE  WAYsIDE 

Of  one    bright  gleam    beyond  tlie  mists  of  Time, 
Though  Faith  amid    the  gloom  may   long  in  vain 
To  heur  the  "rustle  of  an  angel's    wing," — 
We  never    can  in  dark  despair  be    lost 
For  many  days,  for  God  will  soon  or  late, 
Though  yet  to  us  unknown   gird  us  in  strength— 
The  strength  of  concience — strength  ot  soul  to  rise 
Above  the  frowns  of  Fate,  the  shattered  dreams 
And  shipwrecked  peace. 

Then  patience  to  the  last, 
Till  we,  poor  atoms  in  the  universe, 
Shall  pass  like  bubbles  from  the  ocean's  wave. 

It  wont  be  long  until  the  signal  lights 
Will  shine  out  yonder  through  the  dreary  mists; 
It  won't  be  long  until  the  silver  cord, 
That  shackles  our  poor  flesh,  that  goads  the  soul, 
Is  loosened  in  the  peace  of  endless  rest; 
And  we  shall  pass  beyond  the  twilight  hills, 
From  Timeout  through  the  dim  uutraveled  mist, 
Beside  that  Jordan,  where  the  storms  shall  cease 
To  beat,  and  dreary  wrecks  no  longer  float 
Through  shadows  from  forbidden  ground  on  dark, 
Still  waters  of  a  sea  without  a  shore. 
Ah,  let  us  then  with  chastened  hearts  press  on; 
Do  all  we  can  and  leave  the  rest  to  God, — 
In  strength  of  soul  and  concience  stand  sublime, 
Amid  the  fight,  as  stands  the  mighty  Oak, 
Unshaken  by  the  tempest,  scorn  the  ills 
Of  life,  the  blasts  of  Time,  and  challenge  Fate! 


Vi  WAIFS  FAoM  TMK  WAY>1BB 

LIFE'S  .MUSIC. 

There  would  fall  the  sweetest  musit'. 

Where  the  discords  jar  so  niueli  — 
It'  we  knew  the  sec-ret  meaning 

Of  the  wondrous  chords  to  touch. 

With  such  beauties  all  around  us,. 

It  is  strange,  so  strange  that  all 
Our  enchanted  visions  vanish? 

Blooms  of  hope  ?md  promise  fall, 

Hut  our  God,  who  ruleth  over 

Life  and  Time  and  Death  and  Birth. 

Alade  conditions  that  enthrall  us; 
.Made  not   happy  year*  for   earth. 

He  had  reason*  that  we  know  not, 
Have  no  right  to  understand, 

But  I  think  the  beauteous  visions. 
Falling  ceaseless  from  His  hand, 

•      : 

Are  the  messengers  that  tell  us 
Of  His  wonders   and  His  Love, 


And  the  sounds  we  hear  are  echoes 
Of  the  anthem  strains  above; 

Could  we  grasp  and  hold  their  beauti.-* 
Hereupon  this  fleeting  shore, 

Would  we  ever  see  beyond  it, 

Think  of  Christ  who  went  before? 

There  would  fall  the  sweetest  music, 
Where  the  discords  jar  so  much, 

If  we  knew  the  secret  meaning 
Of  the  wondrous  chords  to  touch; 

But  our  God  hath  for  his  purpose 
Hidden  secrets  from  us  all 

In  the  thorns  of  gloomy  deserts 
Where  the  blooms  of  promise  fall. 

Time  is  gloom,  but  far  beyond  us 

Vast  Eternity  shall  dawn, 
For  the  brave  and  true  who  struggle 

Where  the  star  of  hope  shines  on. 

And  Life's  music — deathless  anthems. 
From  the  angel  harps  above 


WAIFS    FROM     TUB    WAYSIDE 

Shall  b*  caught.  >ip  by  the  gleaners. 
From  the  fields    of  Truth    and   Love! 


THE  END. 


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